


The Long Road

by wilddragonflying



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, BSing of medical procedures in an alternate universe, Blood, Blood and Injury, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Bottom Connor, Communication Blunders, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gender Exploration, Gender Identity, Just to be safe, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Slice of Life, Strap-Ons, Top Hank Anderson, Trans Character, Trans Hank Anderson, Trans Male Character, alright this became way more than just porn which is what i started out intending to write, but here we are, exploration of gender identity, gender expression, it took over 5k words to get these losers to confess, just a friend of hank's making an assumption, not exactly a failure, she apologizes for it and hank doesn't hold it against her bc he trusts her and knows she means well, then it took over six thousand to get them to fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 02:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19781368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: Recovery isn't a single destination. It's a journey, and it's best taken on with a partner.





	The Long Road

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this twitter thread with Fishy](https://twitter.com/wow__thenn/status/1149700019676598272)!
> 
> Full disclosure, I myself am agender afab, and _not_ FTM trans. I've BSed some medical things here to allow for the different universe, but please let me know if I've got anything seriously wrong!

Hank doesn’t know when it happened, when he started seeing Connor as a _person,_ not just an android. It might have started when Connor spilled his drink on the floor of Jimmy’s, maybe when he said ‘I like dogs,’ and talked about wanting to actually _listen_ to music. Or maybe it was when he abandoned his pursuit of the deviant in favor of pulling Hank back onto the roof without hesitating. Maybe it was when Connor smiled at him after Hank dragged himself out of his own bathroom, or maybe…

Well, by the time Hank held his gun to Connor’s head on the bridge and asked Connor if he was afraid to die, he’d already started thinking - hoping - that Connor was a person. That he was alive. 

By the time he pulls the trigger on the imposter, Hank knows that Connor and every other android _are_ alive. 

When Hank pulls Connor in for a hug under the overpass, the steady beat of his thirium pump sounds human enough to him. 

* * *

Hank invites Connor to stay with him; Markus and the other androids had already taken control of CyberLife, but Hank doesn’t like the thought of Connor around all of the deviants he’d been assigned to hunt - to bring in for disassembly. Connor’s clearly uncomfortable with the idea, and though Hank hasn’t had a roommate for years, he doesn’t hesitate to offer his home to Connor. Connor takes him up on it with a small, almost shy smile.

That smile is a common sight in the following days. There’s a lot going down outside of their house, but Connor’s made his peace with his role in the revolution, has promised future help to Markus if it’s needed, but for now… Well, he was built for high-tension, fast-paced negotiations and crime scenes, not for legislation. 

Fowler accepts Connor back onto the force without an argument when Hank asks, and in the weeks following Markus’s demonstrations they’re kept busy helping keep the already-fragile peace in Detroit as the evacuation is rescinded and the humans and newly-freed androids figure out how to live together.

Things don’t _magically_ get better for Hank just because he has a roommate; he drinks less while Connor is around, but when Connor stays late at the precinct one night to lend a hand on a new, puzzling case… 

He empties another bottle of Black Lamb, but the gun stays locked in its safe. He’s not sure if it’s better or worse that he didn’t _intend_ to drink the entire bottle, just - hadn’t paid attention, too lost in memories of Cole, of the last time he’d lived in a house that felt _full._ He doesn’t even realize how drunk he is until he goes to stand up and dump the empty bottle in the trash, trips over the leg of his chair, and can’t catch his balance. The bottle is still gripped in his hand when he tries to catch himself, and it shatters, shards of glass slicing into his palm.

Connor comes home to Hank swearing as he tries to pick the glass out of his palm, holding his sluggishly-bleeding hand over the kitchen sink. When the door closes and Connor calls his name, Hank tenses, shoulders hunching as his footsteps come closer - and he can’t help the flinch when Connor lays a careful hand on his shoulder. He can see the faint glow of Connor’s LED shifting yellow before returning to blue as he reaches for Hank’s wrist. “Let me,” he says, quietly. “I can see the glass more easily.”

Hank wants to snap at him, tell Connor to back off - but he bites his tongue, nods instead and lets Connor manipulate his hand. Connor’s hands are steadier than his, anyway, and he’s got the fancy scanning equipment. Hank still swears a blue streak when every shard is carefully teased out, but Connor’s finished far more quickly than Hank could ever do himself. “First aid kit’s under the sink,” Hank mutters when Connor looks at him questioningly, and braces himself for the sting of disinfectant.

Connor wraps his hand quickly, professionally. When he’s done, he looks Hank over before offering a small, uncertain smile. “Well, at least this time you haven’t spilled whiskey all over yourself. No shower needed.”

Hank snorts, smiling despite himself. “Small mercies,” he says dryly. “I’m gonna - go sleep this off, pray the hangover isn’t too bad.”

Connor huffs something that might be a laugh - he hasn’t actually _laughed_ yet, not a full-bodied one - as his smile widens into a grin. “A good plan. I’ll take care of the glass on the floor.”

Hank hesitates, turns away - he makes it to the hallway before he turns around, sticks his head back around the corner. “Connor?”

Connor pauses, broom in hand. “Yes, Hank?”

“I - Thanks.” It’s gruffer than he’d intended, but it makes Connor smile anyway.

“You’re welcome, Hank. Get some rest, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Hank hesitates, but what else is there to say? Nothing, really. So he simply nods and retreats around the corner.

* * *

“We need to get you some more clothes,” Hank decides one day, watching Connor putter around the kitchen in his jeans and an old shirt of Hank’s that hangs off of one shoulder.

Connor looks up from where he’s studiously measuring spices for spaghetti sauce. “Why?”

“Because all you’ve got is your uniform and my old rags,” Hank answers. _And because if you keep walking around like that I’m going to lose my damn mind._

Connor frowns, expression confused. “I’m comfortable in these clothes.”

Hank bites back the sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue. “Well, you deserve to have something else of your own,” he says, switching angles. “Figure out what else you’re comfortable in.”

Connor considers that, turning back to the sauce on the stove and waiting until he’s finished adding the spices to it, setting it to simmer before he turns back around to face Hank fully. “I appreciate the thought,” he begins, “but I admit that I’m unsure as to how I would _afford_ these clothes. The legislation requiring androids be paid for their work is not yet law.”

“I’ve got enough saved up I can afford to buy you a few shirts and pairs of pants,” Hank says, waving a hand in a vague gesture. “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

Connor hesitates, his LED cycling - not yet yellow, but the movement is noticeable. Hank waits him out, and is rewarded when Connor nods. “Alright. But only a few things,” he decides. 

Hank grins. “Just a few things,” he agrees, inordinately pleased that Connor’s agreed to let Hank buy him some new clothes. “We’re off tomorrow, right? We can swing by the mall in the morning.”

“Assuming _you’re_ awake before noon,” Connor says, a light to his eyes that suggests he’s teasing. 

“I can get up early!” Hank protests, offended. “I just like to sleep in, that’s not a crime.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth tilts up in something a little too soft to be a true smirk. “I’ll believe that when I see it, Hank.”

Hank scowls at him. “Shut up and watch your sauce,” he grumbles, settling back against the chair. When Connor opens his mouth, Hank nods towards the stove. “The literal sauce is about to boil over.”

Connor’s yelp when he realizes that Hank’s right is _incredibly_ satisfying. 

* * *

Hank doesn’t manage to get up incredibly early, but he’s still awake before noon, and he counts that as early enough to not feel bad about flipping Connor off when the little shit chirps a cheery “Good morning, Hank!” his way. Hank doesn’t say anything until he’s gulped down his first too-hot cup of coffee and has a second in his hands. “Morning,” he grunts, settling heavily into the kitchen chair and watching Connor move around the kitchen. “What’re you cooking now, Mary Poppins?”

“An omelette. I made a quick grocery run this morning to get some vegetables to include in it, as well as bacon.”

Hank sighs. “Well, as long as there’s bacon and no mushrooms.”

“I remembered your dislike for mushrooms,” Connor reassures him. “This is almost done.”

When Connor plates the omelette and slides it in front of Hank, he has to admit that it smells _delicious._ “Looks good,” he hums, grabbing his fork and cutting off of a piece. “What did you put in it?”

“Bacon, eggs, cheese, diced green and red peppers, and chives,” Connor recites, sliding into the chair across from Hank as he watches Hank eat. After more than a month of this, Hank’s used to eating while being watched, even though Connor doesn’t cook more than a couple of times a week, he still sits with Hank whenever Hank heats up a microwave meal. 

Hank hums approvingly. “Tastes great,” he says, lifting his coffee mug in a toast, taking in the pleased smile on Connor’s face with a smile of his own. 

The two of them fall into an easy quiet as Hank eats, splitting up to take care of Sumo and get dressed. When they meet by the front yard, Sumo is clearly aware that they’re leaving him behind _again,_ and settles onto his bed with a heavy sigh. “We’ll need to take him out to the dog park later today,” Hank says as he shuts and locks the front door behind them. “It should be warm enough this afternoon to go out for a couple of hours.”

“It _is_ important for dogs and humans alike to get out of the house regularly,” Connor observes; when Hank looks at him from the corner of his eye, Connor’s expression is innocent, convincing except for the way he is very studiously _not_ looking at Hank. 

“Alright, smartass,” Hank snorts, reaching over without a thought to ruffle Connor’s hair, grinning when he sees Connor’s startled expression and the abrupt yellow of his LED. “Get in the fucking car.”

* * *

The mall is crowded, as it always is, and Hank leads Connor to one of the smaller clothing stores, not one of the large department ones. He’s used it for years, ever since he was a teenager, and when Glenda spots him walking through the door, she beams and bustles around the counter. “Hank!” she calls, reaching out to pull him into a hug that Hank readily returns. “Oh, it’s good to see you. I was worried after those demonstrations, seeing as you’re a Lieutenant and all. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing well, thanks,” he says with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still rough, but… Well, Connor’s been helping.” He gestures to Connor, beckons him forward. “Glenda, this is Connor, my partner. Connor, this is Glenda Lightwood, she owns this place and is a good friend of mine.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Connor says pleasantly, offering his hand for a shake that Glenda eagerly accepts.

“Oh, it’s good to meet you, too! It’s about time Hank had a partner, grumpy old bastard’s been alone for too long. How long have you two been together? I would _hope_ it wasn’t before the demonstrations - “

“ _Glenda,_ ” Hank interrupts, ears flaming; he purposely does not look at Connor’s LED, but can’t help but notice the brief flash of red. “Connor’s my _work_ partner.”

“What - _Oh!_ ” Now Glenda’s flushing, and Hank startles when he realizes that Connor’s cheeks are tinged blue. “Oh, there I go getting ahead of myself again.”

“Lieutenant Anderson and I worked together before and during the demonstrations,” Connor says, sounding slightly awkward; Hank can’t take his eyes off of the flush of blue that sweeps over Connor’s cheekbones. “He - “ Connor hesitates, glances at Hank(is it his imagination, or does the blue get deeper?), and then looks back at Glenda before continuing. “He was a great influence on me, and a large part of the reason I deviated and helped Markus.”

Glenda’s expression is shrewd, and if they weren’t such good friends, Hank would be walking out the door already. “I’ll just bet he was, and I’d lay money on you being just as good an influence on him,” she hums, smirking in Hank’s direction - Hank resists the urge to stick his tongue out at her, but doesn’t resist the urge to flip her off - before she turns back to Connor. “Well, Hank’s already gotten his updated - sort of - wardrobe for the year, so I’m guessing _you’re_ the reason for this shopping trip?”

“Yes,” Hank says, seizing the subject change. “Connor hasn’t had a chance to get some clothes of his own, been borrowing mine when we’re off-duty.”

“Well that won’t do,” Glenda tuts. “Everyone deserves a wardrobe all their own, and no offense honey, but you’ve got plenty of whiskey in those beautiful eyes, you don't need to _smell_ like it, too.”

“Oh fuck you, Glenda,” Hank complains, cheeks hot. Connor hides his smile behind his hand, and Hank narrows his eyes. “If you’re just going to make fun of me, I’m going to go browse and leave you two alone. Shout if you need help, Connor.”

“Yes, Hank,” Connor says, though he’s grinning widely. Hank’s heart does something worrying in his chest, and he quickly turns away to mask whatever his face is doing in response. 

Hank can hear Connor and Glenda talking on the other side of the small store as he browses through the racks, and he lets himself smile. Connor may poke at him about getting out of the house, but Connor needed to get out just as much as Hank did, interact with people _not_ officers of the law. Glenda can be a little over-the-top, but she’s good people, and Hank doesn’t worry about leaving Connor alone with her.

Well, he worries a _little_ bit, but only because Glenda has so many embarrassing stories about him.

By the time Glenda calls him over to the dressing room, Hank’s picked out a couple of shirts and a new pair of pants, which he sets on a chair next to the one he sits in. “Alright, show me what you’ve picked out,” he says.

“You’re going to _love_ these outfits,” Glenda gushes; she’s got a manic look in her eyes, a self-satisfied smirk on her face, and Hank’s suddenly a lot more worried. “Come on out, honey.”

Hank’s pretty certain his heart stops when Connor steps out of the dressing room; he’s wearing what looks like an _incredibly_ soft sweatshirt, his expression nervous, LED yellow - and a long skirt that almost reaches the floor, leaving just enough room to show off the flats he’s wearing. Hank only realizes he’s staring when his eyes go tight and itchy because he hasn’t blinked. 

Connor clears his throat, the sound slightly staticky. “What do you think, Hank?”

Hank clears his own throat, ignores the smirk Glenda sends his way. “I think you look great,” he says honestly. “The skirt suits you, it flatters your frame.”

Connor gives him a small smile, and Hank’s heart trips over itself again. “Thank you,” Connor says politely, his cheeks faintly blue. “I like it, but I don’t think it’s something I would wear in public much.”

“Well, it can be an around-the-house skirt,” Hank suggests. “Something to wear when you’re relaxing off the clock.”

“And when you don’t want to be naked,” Glenda adds, laughing when Hank immediately starts spluttering. “I’m teasing, sweetheart. That skirt does look damn good on you; how do you like the shirt and shoes?”

“They’re nice,” Connor says; his tone is uncertain, like he’s not quite sure he’s really allowed to voice this, or that it’s the sentiment he wants to express.

Glenda, bless her, picks up on that. “Well, I’ve got a ninety-day return policy, so if you decide you don’t like them, so long as they aren’t destroyed you can bring them back for a full refund or an exchange.”

“Thank you,” Connor says sincerely. “I’ll be right back.” He disappears back into the room, and Glenda turns to him with her mouth open - only to make an affronted noise when Hank slaps his hand over her mouth.

He shakes his head, points to the door Connor had disappeared through and then to his ear, and Glenda frowns before realization dawns, and she nods. Instead of saying whatever she was going to say - because of course she’s not going to just _drop it_ \- she grabs her phone and types it out on the screen there.

**He’s a very handsome man, and he cares about you a lot. You sure you two aren’t together?**

Hank sighs, grabbing her phone so he can type a reply of his own. **I’m sure. He only just became deviant a month ago, and he’s still figuring out who he is. I like him, but I don’t want to try anything more until we talk about… a lot of things.**

Glenda frowns, glancing up at Hank before looking back down at the screen. **Surely he knows? If he’s an investigative model, he should have done his homework on you, likely would’ve found the legal name change at the least.**

 **Said he did his homework on me,** Hank replies once he gets the phone back. **Saw me drunk off my ass once, but I had a shirt on so he couldn’t see the scars. It’s fine, Glenda, that’s not really what I meant about things to talk about.**

Glenda winces, gives Hank an apologetic look. **I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry. He’s still a nice man, and I think you could have something good if you let yourself.**

 **I appreciate that, but don’t meddle, alright? I brought him here to help him learn to be a person, get some things that are** **_his_** **.** He punctuates his comment with a raised eyebrow as he passes the phone back, and Glenda sticks her tongue out at him after she reads the message.

**Fine, I won’t. He’s helping you learn how to be a person again, too, isn’t he? You haven’t looked this good in years, Hank. Like you’re looking at life through something other than the bottom of a bottle.**

Hank flushes when he reads that message, but before he can type a response the handle of the dressing room door rattles and he shoves the phone back into Glenda’s hands as Connor steps out. He’s wearing a polo shirt and a pair of slacks this time, his usual shoes back on his feet. It’s a smart-casual look, and Hank nods appreciatively. “That looks nice. Good for going out for a walk or to the movies in.”

“Really? You don’t think it’s too close to my - to the uniform?” Connor looks nervous, like Hank’s answer actually _matters_ to him, and that makes Hank pause, consider his next words carefully.

“I don’t,” he says finally, firm. “If it makes you comfortable to wear something smart like that, then that’s your choice. And hey, it’s not like I don’t have plenty of old shirts and sweatpants for you to borrow. Just means we might need to get you a belt.”

Connor relaxes, the yellow of his LED turning back to blue as he smiles at Hank, that same small smile he’d given Hank under the overpass. “Thank you. I did pick out a couple of t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants as well.”

Hank nods. “Then that sounds like a good start to your wardrobe if you’re done for the day.”

“I think so,” Connor decides, glancing at Glenda who grins. 

“Well, if you want to wear that out, just hand me the tags and I’ll ring you boys up,” she says cheerfully; Connor hesitates but then carefully removes the tags from the clothes he’s wearing, and Hank has to fight down a beaming smile as Connor hands them over. 

* * *

Christmas and New Year’s comes and goes; Hank and Connor don’t make much fuss over either holiday. A small artificial tree is set up for Christmas, and he and Hank toast the New Year with thirium and a beer, respectively. Work keeps them relatively busy, busy enough that his annual appointment sneaks up on him.

“Motherfucker,” he swears, glancing at the calendar on his terminal as they sign in for the day. “I’ll have to tell Fowler I’ll be late tomorrow. I have a doctor’s appointment, and if I try to reschedule now it’ll be a month before I get another appointment.”

Connor glances his way. “This appointment is important?”

“Yeah, it’s a requirement to renew my T implant,” Hank answers, keeping his attention on his terminal. “Need to get doctor approval for it. The appointment will take ten minutes, tops, but I have to be there in person because the doctor needs to draw blood, make sure I’m getting the right dosage.”

Connor blinks rapidly, LED cycling in the way that tells Hank he’s looking something up, and after a moment he nods. “Do you need to fast for this test?”

“Nah, not for this appointment. Got an appointment with my general doctor in… I think three weeks? I’ll have to fast for the bloodwork for that. You’ll be alright grabbing a taxi?”

“Yes. Or…” Connor hesitates, but when Hank raises an eyebrow, he suggests, “I could come with you. We’ve no pressing cases at the moment, and if Fowler approves it, then it would make more sense for me to ride with you than spend money on an autotaxi.”

Hank hesitates, but Connor’s right, and… Well, and maybe this will be a good way to broach a topic Hank’s wanted to talk about for a while. “Alright,” he says. “ _If_ Jeff says it’s okay, you can come with me.”

The way Connor beams at him is enough to allay Hank’s fears for the moment, too busy focusing on trying to get his heart rate back under control. 

* * *

Jeff does approve their request, and on the drive to the doctor’s office the next day, Hank finally finds the courage to speak up while they’re idling at an intersection. “So, I wanted to ask you something.”

Connor immediately gives him his full attention, but Hank’s still watching the street light. “Yes?”

“We’ve been living together for a few months now, and I’d say we’re pretty good friends, right?” From the corner of his eye, Hank sees Connor’s LED briefly turn yellow, returning to blue after one rotation. 

“Yes,” he says, but there’s something slightly off about his tone, something that Hank doesn’t want to overthink right now as the street light turns green and he eases them through the intersection after making sure it’s clear. 

“Well, I was wondering… Would you be alright if I added you as a next of kin? Jeff’s already listed, and I don’t have anyone else. But I figured if anything happened… You could get access to my records, make decisions if I can’t.”

Connor’s quiet for several long moments, and when Hank glances over, he has to look away, unable to meet the intensity of Connor’s thoughtful gaze for long. “I think that sounds like a good idea,” Connor says eventually, though Hank still feels his gaze lingering. “I’d - I’d like that. Thank you for trusting me.”

Hank snorts. “You’ve saved my life more than once, Connor. If I didn’t trust you, I’d be more paranoid than a conspiracy theorist.”

“You do lack the necessary headwear to be one,” Connor agrees, his smile widening into a grin when Hank barks out a laugh.

“Christ, Connor,” he chuckles, reaching over with one hand to shove gently at Connor’s shoulder. “Don’t make me laugh so hard, I’m trying to drive here.”

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

* * *

When August rolls around, a thought occurs to Hank. He and Connor have been living together for several months, and though they’ve had the normal roommate spats, things have been good. Hank’s happier than he can remember being since Cole’s death, and Connor’s come a long way since the night he pulled Hank out of Jimmy’s and to a crime scene. He’s grown as a person, and watching him… Well, Hank’s had some _revelations,_ and he’s still trying to decide what to do about them. 

The thought he had may or may not be related to his musings. “Hey, Connor. What date do you want to use for your birthday?” he asks one night during a Gears game that’s going… poorly, to say the least, for the Gears. He’s looking for a distraction, and when he’d spotted the calendar, he’d realized that he and Connor had never discussed birthdays before.

Connor’s brow furrows, and he frowns. “I’m sorry?”

“Your birthday,” Hank repeats. “Y’know, most humans celebrate theirs and their friends’. I was wondering if you wanted to do that.”

Connor blinks, his LED flashing as he considers the question. “Maybe,” he says slowly. “I’m not sure which date to use, though.”

“Well, what are your options?”

“I was activated on August fifteenth of last year,” Connor says thoughtfully, “but I was put into long-term stasis between the mission with Daniel and the deviancy cases. I was woken out of that on November sixth.”

“The day we met,” Hank remembers, nodding. 

“Yes. But I didn’t _wake up,_ as Markus would put it, until November ninth.”

“So those are your options?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Hank and Connor fall silent as they contemplate the question; Hank’s the one to break it first. “I think you should use August fifteenth. That mission with Daniel… You weren’t a deviant yet, but that still influenced you, it helped shape your approach through the deviancy case and then after the demonstrations.”

Connor considers that, a slow smile crossing his lips. “It did. It’s a bit short notice, though; only a week away.”

“Eh, that’s not a problem,” Hank says with a wave of his hand. “But if it feels right for you, then we can use that as your birthday, not just your day of activation.”

“It feels right,” Connor says quietly, but no less confident for it. 

“Well, we can let the people at the office know; Chris and Ben will want to bring in a cake, Ben will use any excuse to try a new recipe, and he’s been hinting about wanting to try making a thirium cake.”

Connor laughs. “I won’t be able to eat much of it if it’s a solid,” he points out.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Hank counters. “Besides, I’ve heard thirium doesn’t really cook well. Maybe he’ll bring in some samples for you to lick, you disgusting walking forensics lab.”

Connor rolls his eyes, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at Hank’s head slow enough for Hank to have more than enough time to block it. “I had no input in my design,” he reminds Hank, an old argument. “I’m simply doing my job.”

“It’s still fucking disgusting,” Hank informs him. “Now, if you went around licking whipped cream and actual food, that wouldn’t be too bad, but I’ve only ever seen you lick blood and thirium.”

Something flashes in Connor’s eyes that makes Hank’s breath catch in his chest. “Really?” he asks, his innocent tone just _off_ enough to make Hank suspicious. “I _have_ been curious about the chemical compositions of some of those microwave meals of yours - “

Hank cuts him off by whacking him with the pillow he’d thrown at Hank.

* * *

“So,” Hank says, settling on the couch a week later, grinning as Connor uses a wet wipe to scrub the last of Chen’s lipstick off of his cheek in the reflection of the dark television screen. “You’re officially a year old now. Feel any different?”

“I feel violated,” Connor says dryly. “I’d not realized Officer Chen became so affectionate after a few drinks.”

“She doesn’t get drunk often, she’s got a shit tolerance. Reed is worse,” Hank informs him with a laugh. “More than one beer and he’s _gone._ ”

“I’m glad that he didn’t stay for long, then,” Connor chuckles. “I’m sure he and Officer Chen would have only encouraged each other to ridiculous heights.”

“They would have,” Hank concedes. “But seriously, you good?”

“I’m good,” Connor confirms, dumping the wipe in the trash and sitting on the couch next to Hank, an easy smile gracing his lips. “It was… fun, interacting with the others outside of the office. And seeing Glenda again.” In the dim light from the kitchen, it’s difficult to tell for sure, but Hank thinks Connor blushes - but the flickering yellow of his LED is a dead giveaway.

“She gave you a naughty gift, didn’t she?” Hank asks, grinning. “Lemme guess, some lacy little thing?” Connor looks at him sharply, and Hank laughs. “She’s given me something similar every year, it’s her way of showing affection. Means she likes you.”

Connor’s face makes an interesting expression, and Hank grins at him when he finally sighs. “She did,” he confirms, “but that’s all I’m saying about it.”

Hank laughs, takes a drink of the beer in his hand. “Well, happy birthday, Connor,” he says, tilting his bottle towards Connor. “Bet you never thought you’d be here in a year when you were activated.”

That earns a quiet chuckle. “No, no I did not.” Connor hesitates then, the silence between them heavy - and then he speaks again. “I had hoped that you and I would still be working together, though, by the anniversary of the demonstrations. It seems like that will be happening.”

“It will if I have anything to say about it,” Hank confirms, smiling at Connor over the rim of his bottle. “You’re the best damn partner I’ve ever had, Connor.”

Connor shifts in his seat, turns to face Hank more fully - and when his tongue darts out, when he licks his lips in a nervous habit he’d picked up at some point Hank can’t remember, Hank suddenly has the feeling of being on thin ice. “Best partner, huh?”

“Partner, roommate, friend,” Hank confirms, slowly lowering the bottle in his hand. “Something on your mind, Con?”

Connor hesitates, LED yellow, yellow, yellow with the briefest flash of red before he speaks again. “I’ve been wondering…” He takes an unnecessary deep breath, chest rising and falling, and Hank’s in no way prepared for what he says next. “Are you in love with me, Hank?”

Hank blinks, grip tightening reflexively on the bottle in his hand when it slips. “I - You - “

Connor forges on, determination writ clear across his expression. “Your heart rate frequently elevates around me, we spend a lot of time together, and the way you look at me sometimes is the same way Officer Collins looks at his husband, and Officer Miller looks at his wife. I - I think I’m in love with you, and if you feel the same, I didn’t want to hide that. I thought I was right, and Glenda encouraged me to talk to you when I asked her about it, so I decided to say something. If you don’t feel that way, however - ”

“I do!” Hank blurts, setting his beer on the coffee table hastily, reaching forward, hand hovering awkwardly over Connor’s. “I - I do, Connor. I didn’t want to say anything because you’ve only been alive a year, I wanted you to figure out how to be _you_ before I said anything, and then I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, if you’d even _want_ to feel the same.”

Connor closes the distance between them, taking Hank’s hand in his as he scoots forward until their thighs are pressed together. “I do,” he says, a quiet conviction layering his voice, letting the words settle over Hank like a comforting blanket. “I want you, Hank - however you’ll let me have you. I love you.”

Hank blinks again, then smiles, slow. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, finds himself leaning forward almost unconsciously - but it’s alright, because Connor meets him halfway, presses their lips together in a soft kiss that lingers. Hank knows he’s grinning like a loon when they eventually part, but that’s alright, because Connor’s grinning just as wide.

They spend the next half hour on the couch before Hank’s bladder reminds him of the beers he’s had. Connor lets Sumo out while Hank goes to the bathroom and brushes his teeth, and when Hank emerges from the bathroom, he sees his bedroom door open, the light on. When he looks inside, Connor’s standing by the closet, Hank’s old DPD shirt in his hands, wearing nothing else but boxers. When Hank moves in closer, he glances up, a nervous smile on his face. “I was just debating whether to wear this to bed,” he explains; Hank had felt bad about leaving Connor with only the couch to sleep on, even if Connor didn’t exactly _sleep,_ and had offered the other half of his bed to him some months back. 

“Okay, as opposed to…?”

“Well.” Connor hesitates, but when Hank steps forward, looks at him questioningly, he seems to steel himself. “I was wondering if it would be alright with you to sleep without a shirt tonight.”

Hank blinks. “You can wear as much or as little to bed as you want, Connor.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I - “ Here, Connor bites his lip, glances up at Hank and then away, confessing to the floor, “I want to feel your skin against mine.”

It barely takes a moment to connect the dots. “ _Oh._ You want _me_ to - “ Irrationally, Hank feels a spike of fear; he’s avoided being shirtless around Connor ever since he moved in, has never been naked anywhere but the shower in years now. He’d been comfortable in his body for years, but after Cole… He’d let himself go, he knows. He’s not in the same shape he had been, even accounting for age, and he’s avoided looking at his body as much as possible. 

“You don’t have to,” Connor hastens to say, clearly sensing Hank’s discomfort. “I know it’s a lot to ask you - but it’s something I’d like to do, whenever you’re comfortable with the idea.”

Hank holds up a hand, a wordless request for a moment to think, and Connor goes obligingly quiet. Hank turns the idea over in his mind, and he can’t deny that it’s awfully tempting. He hasn’t been intimate with someone since shortly after Connor was born, hasn’t just slept next to someone with nothing but skin and maybe boxers between them in as long. After a few moments, he swallows, hard, and nods. “I’d like to at least give it a try,” he says, smiling when Connor’s expression lights up. “I promise, I’ll let you know if I get too uncomfortable and need to get dressed.”

Connor’s smile is soft, pleased, and when he leans in, Hank meets him readily for a kiss. “Thank you, Hank,” he murmurs, and Hank can’t help a soft smile of his own as Connor pulls away, folds and puts away his shirt before heading for bed. Hank takes a deep breath, pulling his own shirt off before he has time to overthink the motion, and tosses it into the hamper. He crawls under the covers, settles in next to Connor and looks at him expectantly.

“Well?” he says, opening his arms - he’s not disappointed when Connor moves closer, settles himself against Hank’s chest, arm resting over Hank’s stomach.

“Is this okay?”

Hank considers it for a moment, but he’s already relaxing into the mattress, and he smiles. “This is okay,” he confirms.

Connor hesitates for a moment, LED pulsing in the dark. “Is there anywhere you don’t want me to touch?” he asks quietly, glancing up and meeting Hank’s gaze. “So I can do my best to avoid those areas.”

Hank gives serious consideration to the question, but in the end… “No,” he decides. “I’m… not used to this, but there’s not really anywhere that’s worse or that I don’t want you to touch.” He’s vaguely uncomfortable with this, not that he doesn’t _want_ Connor pressed against him, he’s just unused to the feeling. He’s already more comfortable than he was moments ago, so he doesn’t feel like he’s lying to Connor. 

Connor nods against him, shifting slightly so that he’s resting more heavily against Hank, his head pillowed on Hank’s shoulder and his arm shifting until his arm is slung over Hank’s waist. “Good night,” he says quietly.

Hank smiles, presses a soft kiss to the crown of Connor’s head. “Good night.”

* * *

“ _Connor,_ ” Hank gasps, hands twisting in Connor’s hair as his tongue circles Hank’s dick, traces over sensitive skin while one of Connor’s hands plays with his nipples, fingers rolling and pinching the sensitive skin beneath them, tracing over the long-faded scars before returning to their previous actions. “ _Fuck,_ babe, don’t fucking _tease_ me, Jesus.”

Connor’s eyes are bright when he looks up, meets Hank’s pleading gaze - but apparently he takes pity on Hank, because he stops teasing with just his mouth, brings his fingers into play as well, slides through the slick between Hank’s folds, rubs over the sensitive skin of his hole, and soon Hank’s coming with a sharp cry, fingers tightening in Connor’s hair to what would be painful for a human. Connor works him through the aftershocks, touches gentling as Hank’s breathing hitches, and eventually Hank can’t take anymore, hauls Connor up into a bruising kiss so he can taste himself on Connor’s mouth, shift the angle and lick his juices from Connor’s chin, grinning when Connor moans.

“Why the hell am I not surprised you’ve got an oral kink?” Hank murmurs against the skin of Connor’s jaw, punctuating his question with a nip that earns a gasp from Connor. “C’mon, darling. Did you do what I asked you to while I was in the shower?”

Connor nods, buries his face in Hank’s shoulder when one of Hank’s hands wanders down his spine, dipping down to fuck two fingers into Connor’s hole without preamble, grinning when Connor moans against him, when he feels the lube coating his fingers.

“Good boy,” Hank hums, smiling when Connor shudders against him. “Grab my other dick, will you, babe?”

Connor reaches blindly for the bedside table, snatching the harness off of it and sitting up so that he can help Hank into the harness. Soft, comfortable leather wraps around Hank’s hips, and he sighs when he feels the small plug slide into his cunt, the ridge on the other side of the hard plastic cock rubbing up against his cock. Connor tests the fit of the straps, makes sure that they’re not too tight before he sits up, straddles Hank’s hips. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” Connor murmurs, his hips rocking, nudging the head of Hank’s cock against his hole. “Been thinking about you fucking me open, filling me up…”

Hank hums, grip tight on Connor’s hips as Connor sinks down. “You do make a lovely sight, sweetheart,” he murmurs, letting one hand shift until he can palm Connor’s cock, wrap his fingers around it and stroke, thumb sweeping over the head. “I’m glad CyberLife gave you this, it’s so _fun_ to play with. Love the noises you make.”

On cue, Connor groans, finally taking Hank to the hilt. “ _Hank,_ ” he sighs, shaky. His hips are already twitching, and Hank can feel the tension winding up in Connor’s chassis. Some other night, Hank’s going to make Connor wait, make him _work_ for his orgasm… But not tonight. Tonight, they’re both too worked up, too impatient for that kind of fuck. 

“Come on,” Hank encourages him, hips thrusting up and exhaling shakily when the movement shifts the ridge against his cock and the plug in his hole. “Come on, sweetheart, fuck yourself on my cock.”

Connor doesn’t need any more encouragement, head falling back and LED pulsing frantically as he lifts himself up, crying out when Hank’s hips snap up and meet him as he starts sinking back down. They set up a rhythm quickly, driving each other closer and closer to the edge, the sound of skin slapping together echoing through the room.

Connor comes first, Hank’s name sounding _divine_ as it falls from his lips, head tossed back as his cock twitches, come spurting from it to land in ropes across Hank’s stomach and chest. Hank comes soon after, burying his cock to the base as his hips work, riding the shuddering waves of his orgasm for as long as they last. 

Once they catch their breath, Connor slides off of Hank’s lap, shifts out of the way so Hank can pull his harness off, trade it for some wipes Connor hands him. Connor takes his harness and dick into the bathroom, cleans them and sets them to dry while Hank cleans himself. When Connor returns, he slides under the covers and tucks himself against Hank’s side without hesitation, and Hank wraps an arm around his shoulders, pressing his lips to the steady blue of his LED. “Everything put away?”

Connor hums an affirmation. “All taken care of.”

“Good.” Hank reaches up, tucks his finger under Connor’s chin, tilts his face up for a kiss. “I love you, you know that?”

Connor smiles into the kiss, shifting so he can sling one leg over Hank’s. “I know. I love you, too, Hank.”

“Good,” Hank murmurs, letting himself relax into the mattress, Connor’s weight a comforting presence against his side as sleep pulls at him. “Don’t forget it.”

Connor’s laugh is quiet, fond. “I won’t, Hank.”


End file.
